


Come as little faith

by LiveOakWithMoss



Series: Passion and Anxious Care [1]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, And Fingon Has Dangerous Talents, Dirty Talk, Giant Ginger Angst, Jealousy, M/M, Maedhros Is The Longest And Most Awkward Housecat, Maedhros's Stupid Hair Clips That Fingon Might Love More Than Life Itself, Mutual Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Resolved Sexual Tension, Sexual Tension, There Will Be Crying About This Fact, They Are Actual Idiots It's So Sad, Things That Are Obvious To Everyone But The Parties Involved, Violence Against Walls, referenced voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-16
Updated: 2016-11-19
Packaged: 2018-08-31 07:46:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8570308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiveOakWithMoss/pseuds/LiveOakWithMoss
Summary: Maedhros knows three things: 1) He is so lucky to have Fingon as his roommate and best friend. He doesn't need him to be more than that, really.2) Fingon is wonderful. Fingon deserves to be loved and cherished.3) Fingon's new boyfriend, that tall, useless, neurotic redhead, is not good enough for him. This is just a fact.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [emilyenrose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/emilyenrose/gifts).
  * Translation into Русский available: [Лови момент, в грядущий день не верь](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10383390) by [rio_abajo_rio](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rio_abajo_rio/pseuds/rio_abajo_rio)



> It is a sign of just how much I love emilyenrose that I have allowed myself to get this sucked into a modern AU for her.
> 
> A non-DWMP modern AU.
> 
> A ‘Fingon and Maedhros are oblivious roommates and there is a fuckton of idiot pining’ AU.
> 
> And it is a sign of her power that this ended up as a four chapter shitshow rather than the one-off it was supposed to be. In honor of her birthday week, I’ll be posting a chapter a day, with the climax (lol) on the great day itself. 
> 
> ENJOY THESE CRAP ROOMMATES, ENJOY MAE’S POV, he gave me such a bad case of stuttering ellipses I may never be a decent writer again. Love you, Em, happy birthday, etc.

Fingon had a new boyfriend and Maedhros did not understand it at all.

Not the boyfriend bit; it was perfectly logical that his handsome, outgoing, eternally charming roommate should attract men like flies attract honey, or however the saying went – Maedhros was in too much of a grump to get the words right. Fingon often brought guys back to their place, and while Maedhros didn’t love sharing space with someone engaged in nibbling Fingon’s neck or causing those deeps, distracting moans from across the hall at night, he supposed he could understand the appeal. In an objective, theoretical sort of way, Maedhros knew Fingon’s ‘friends’ were attractive. They tended to be handsome, fit, good-humored and fun, always game for a night of dancing and drinking - They were in fact everything Fingon himself embodied (and everything Maedhros didn’t), and Maedhros could… _intellectualize_ the appeal.

But this one – Maedhros refused to remember his name properly – this latest conquest was a joke.

He was tall and awkward, thin and poorly built – _scrawny_ , Maedhros thought with savage satisfaction, _weak_ – with straggly auburn hair that he wore in a ponytail that grazed his Burberry scarf. How pretentious could you get, Maedhros thought, watching Fingon’s New Friend sniff their milk and ask in his thin, reedy voice, if they had any almond milk, “because dairy sometimes upsets my stomach, you know?”

 _Pathetic_ , Maedhros thought, conveniently forgetting the Lactaid he kept in the cabinet for his own occasional dairy-induced distress. _Pathetic and sickly and high maintenance, how entitled could one person in another person’s apartment_ be _?_

But worse than having the New Friend poking through their fridge was how striking it was for its rarity. For Fingon was only around infrequently these days, hardly ever bringing his boyfriend by or home himself. It wasn’t that Maedhros _liked_ seeing Fingon draped over that unkempt Burberry stick figure, but it was always better to have Fingon around than not.

Even if it meant hearing Fingon call someone else – call _someone_ – ‘baby.’

There was something maddening about that word in Fingon’s mouth. Maybe it was just that it sounded so different from the way he talked to Maedhros. It was like hearing him speak another language, and it made him feel…inaccessible.

But now Fingon’s voice wasn’t echoing through their apartment at all, and Maedhros, who usually quite liked being alone, had never felt so lonely.

The silence – that was another thing. Fingon, Maedhros’s best friend and roommate of five years, would usually talk freely about his boyfriends. Fingon shared everything. Fingon, Maedhros reminded himself, spent so much time with Maedhros that more than one of their mutual acquaintances had assumed they were dating, one work friend going so far as to make reference to Fingon’s ‘husband’. Maedhros still blushed at the memory, even though Fingon had just laughed at the mistake and called him ‘dear hubby’ for a month, until Maedhros asked him to stop.

But it was proof, he thought furiously, of their close friendship. It was evidence of Fingon’s ease with him, and his willingness to share. Everyone could see it, even if they misread it, and Maedhros had cherished it _._

Fingon would joke about the shortcomings of his boyfriends, confide in him about their sexual performance, and occasionally worry about their intentions. Maedhros enjoyed being given Fingon’s trust on this front, and while he had very little to offer in the realm of sex or dating advice, he couldn’t help but enjoy Fingon’s stories of the failings of men and how their courtships came up short. He told himself that maybe someday Fingon’s trove of stories and the lessons they imparted would be useful to him, however unlikely that seemed. If he did end up dating someone, he had no doubt Fingon would give him advice. Even now, knowing how scant Maedhros’s love life was, Fingon was always endearingly curious about his prospects.

“Ooh, are you going to?” he’d ask, when Maedhros mentioned a number given him in a coffee shop, or someone who’d slipped him their business card with ‘Call me!’ scribbled on the back.

Maedhros always shrugged. “They’re not interested in dating, they’re just being friendly. I have plenty of friends,” he say, and Fingon was always kind enough to ignore the enormity of this lie.

But as this latest relationship unfolded, Maedhros hadn’t heard a peep from his friend.

Fingon was silent, and Fingon was absent.

He wasn’t telling Maedhros what he saw in this boyfriend, not what drew him to that tall, gangling neurotic, nor what shortcomings or redemptive features this creature might have. Fingon was being secretive, a new development that indicated it might be serious, for Fingon was never serious or secretive about his boyfriends.

Maedhros had to admit he was starting to go a little crazy about the whole thing.

“He’s not even good-looking,” he said to Maglor on the phone one night, for at least the twelfth time in two weeks. “He looks undernourished and like he barely sees sunlight, it’s pathetic! Fingon goes for runs every weekend and rock-climbs four days a week, how can something like that possibly keep up with him?”

“What’s more,” said Maedhros, the next night, “I don't think this kid is at all reliable. He’s clearly totally neurotic and wrapped up in himself, always going on about his _projects_ and his worries about his _thesis_ and what his _advisor_ will say. How is he going to be aware enough to know when Fingon is going through something? How is he going to be emotionally durable enough to support Fingon when he needs it?”

“And he’s got a small dick,” he said, on Saturday, as Maglor groaned on the other end of the phone. “Fingon said something when he was drunk the other day. Seriously, you can totally tell if you listen – Well, talk about not being able to satisfy – ”

“Mae,” Maglor interrupted. “Please get a new hobby.”

“I don’t have any hobbies,” said Maedhros, momentarily sidetracked.

“Your hobby is deconstructing your roommate’s boyfriend to the point of obsession,” said Maglor. “And it’s boring and sad and if you think he could do so much better, you should present him with an alternative.”

There was a heavy hint in Maglor’s voice, but Maedhros just frowned. “Thanks so much for the sympathy and advice,” he said coldly. “Goodnight.”

“ _Mae_ dhros – ”

But Maedhros had hung up.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Maedhros finally gets it together.
> 
> Just kidding!
> 
> He does the opposite of that.

Maedhros waited in vain for them to break up.

Fingon always dumped his boyfriends eventually – or was dumped, as he sometimes told Maedhros, with a cheerful sort of resignation.

“Why would anyone – Why did he end things?” Maedhros would ask, trying to be thoughtful.

Fingon would shrug. “Oh, he said some dumb things about my priorities or whatever. Usual bullshit! I’m better off without him.”

Maedhros tried not to love these times when he could devote himself wholly to Fingon’s recuperation, tucking blankets around his feet on the couch and listening sympathetically to Fingon's debrief on the relationship. For all Fingon's charm, the breakups seemed to happen fairly regularly, few relationships lasting for than a couple months.

Maybe Fingon wasn't the long term type, he once suggested to Maglor, or maybe the men he dated weren't interesting enough to hold his attention.

"Maybe," said Maglor dubiously. "Or maybe he keeps sabotag- fucking up his relationships because he's _bad_ at them."

This was patent nonsense, and Maedhros ignored it.

Fingon was almost certainly good at relationships, despite choosing men who didn't appreciate him enough, but Maedhros sometimes wondered how good his friend was at ending them. He noticed that Fingon’s distress over these breakups could at times be a little… stiff. He tended to use the same, almost mechanical phrases over and over, as if he was reciting lines he’d heard on their favorite terrible sitcom. But then, emotional self-expression was hard, Maedhros could acknowledge this, and he could hardly fault Fingon for fumbling for the right words. He further reminded himself that Fingon was a terrible liar, so if he said he was upset, he probably was.

So he’d cancel his obligations and stay home with Fingon on date night to keep him from being sad, and they’d watch the awful Disney channel show they’d become addicted to, the one with the teenage alien and the inexplicable singing contests. They’d insult the actors’ fashion choices and argue about favorite scenes, and it was worth it to see Fingon laughing again so quickly. They’d stay up past midnight watching endless reruns of twenty-something actors pretending to be sixteen year olds, and Fingon would eventually drift off with his head on Maedhros’s shoulder. Maedhros would mute the TV and hold very still, until he could count their heartbeats against each other. He would straighten the blankets around them both and feel Fingon’s breath on his neck and tell himself he was glad he could be there as a support for his roommate.

His friend.

His  _best_ friend. 

But this time, Fingon’s relationship did not end.

 

* * *

 

Maedhros stayed up late Saturday night – Fingon sometimes went out drinking, and Maedhros just wanted to make sure he had some water and didn’t walk into any walls when he got in – but Fingon didn’t come home at all.

He didn’t even text.

 

* * *

 

“Why are you calling me?” said Maglor, as soon as he picked up.

“I want to hear about that article you’re writing on Sleater-Kinney,” said Maedhros bleakly.

A sigh echoed down the line. “He’s at his boyfriend’s again, isn’t he?”

“He’s got his own life,” said Maedhros. “Whatever. I don’t care. Just tell me about Corin Tucker’s furniture line again, okay?”

 

* * *

 

“Hey you!” said Fingon, and Maedhros felt his face creak with the unexpected force of the smile Fingon’s voice elicited. “Is it cool if we make some meals over here?”

“Of course,” said Maedhros, and his face felt normal again as the smile dropped.

 

* * *

  

It wasn’t until the night Fingon’s New Friend decided to talk about opera that Maedhros lost it.

Fingon had made fettuccine with sundried tomatoes and mushrooms, his speciality. When Maedhros came in for the evening, lifting his head at the familiar smell of pesto and then dropping it again at the sight of an auburn ponytail, Fingon invited him to join them and Maedhros wasn't quick enough to think of an excuse to say no. As Maedhros sat awkwardly and Fingon loaded up his plate, the Friend perched on the edge of his chair, sipped his wine through thin lips, and proceeded to condescend to Maedhros past human endurance.

At least, that was how Maedhros described it to Maglor later. “He was explaining,” he said, ear pressed so tightly to the receiver that it pinched, “ _Die Fledermaus_ to me like it was some kind of obscure reference I would never have gotten without a damn doctorate. God save me from intellectuals who think the rest of us are never exposed to any art or literature! Just because I didn’t study Wagner and Strauss at the goddamn opera academy of whateverfordshire – ”

“Actually it’s an operetta,” the Friend had said, in his clipped, didactic tones, with what was clearly supposed to be a conciliatory smile. His own plate had been cleaned only of pasta, the sundried tomatoes left like shriveled hearts around the rim. “Lighter subject matter, don’t you see? It’s German in origin – it means ‘The Bat’ – ”

“I speak German,” Maedhros had said, through gritted teeth. “And I am familiar, it is only one of the most famous oper _ettas_ of the modern age.”

The Friend had given a tittering laugh. “Well. I have met few non-academics who are familiar with it! And I know your background has not been – I mean, you didn’t exactly take the _usual_ course of study – ”

“You can say I dropped out,” said Maedhros loudly. “It’s not a secret or anything.”

“No need to get defensive,” said the Friend, raising his ginger eyebrows, and Maedhros had snapped.

“What’s going on?” said Fingon, returning to the table with salad tongs as Maedhros slammed his chair back from the table and got to his feet.

“ _Nothing_ ,” Maedhros snarled, and stalked into the hall, the door hanging open behind him.

“You were right, he _is_ sensitive about it,” he heard the Friend say, right before he punched a hole in the wall.

He did take some small satisfaction in the way the Friend’s narrow buttocks nearly slipped off the seat in shock at the sound.

 

* * *

 

“I don't see how you live with him,” Maedhros heard the Friend saying, as Fingon got him into an Uber out on the street. “Quite disturbed, practically unhinged. He should see someone.”

Maglor had insinuated the same thing during their last phone conversation. Standing in the hallway, waiting for Fingon to come back, Maedhros dug his fingers into his pockets and tried not to scream.

“I have been attending the opera since I was _seven_ ,” he said pointlessly to Fingon when he returned, but Fingon just looked at him like he was a stranger.

“What the hell was that about?”

“I can’t stand that guy,” said Maedhros, before he could stop himself. “I can’t stand him, he’s awful, and it’s not only that he’s a patronizing dick who thinks way too highly of himself – ”

“Don’t hold back or anything,” said Fingon, but he seemed more confused than angry.

“I’m not pissed because he was a tool to me,” said Maedhros. “Really, I couldn’t care less what that idiot poseur with his knock-off scarf thinks of me.” It was a lie, or lie-adjacent, but Maedhros would drink bleach before admitting it. “I’m pissed because he’s not good enough for you.”

Fingon stared at him.

“Listen,” said Maedhros, trying to drop his voice from shrill and 'unhinged' to low and concerned, “I didn’t want to say anything but I’m sorry, Fin, I can’t bite my tongue anymore. This guy is _wrong_ for you; he’s selfish and pretentious and unstable and he’s not going to be able to support you like you deserve. You should be with someone so much better than him, and I just can’t – I just can’t sit and watch you throw yourself away on this loser.”

“Throw myself away?” said Fingon slowly.

“He’s going to hurt you,” said Maedhros, urgency choking him and making his voice crack. “Fingon, I know his type, he won’t be able to come through for you when it matters. I can’t watch you get hurt by him!”

Fingon said nothing, just kept looking at him, and Maedhros felt overcome with despair.

“I can’t do it,” said Maedhros, and now his voice sounded flat in his own ears, all affect gone in the face of his helplessness. “I can’t – be around him, Fingon, I’m sorry.” And he turned and vanished into the night.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It’s sweet to me_  
>  __  
> to revel when a friend is home again.

Fourteen hours passed before Maedhros could bring himself to return.

He had almost immediately been overcome with a shame and embarrassment so intense that there was no recourse but to hide. Where did he get off, talking to Fingon like that? When had he become hot-headed and physical like that, Jesus, when had he become _Celegorm_ – And what a hideous thing to do, what an awful way to behave, he wouldn’t be surprised if Fingon moved out within the week…

Maedhros opened the door quietly, hoping Fingon was still in bed and wouldn’t be there to see him return from his night spent in a childlike snit. He’d never felt more like a dog dragging itself home with its tail between its legs than he did at this very moment. Hopefully Fingon would pretend nothing had happened, like he was often kind enough to do after one of their infrequent quarrels. Maedhros would make dinner for a week, all Fingon’s favorites, and he would patch up the hole in the wall so they wouldn’t lose their deposit, and they could just move on and things could get back to normal. Maedhros wouldn’t make a _peep_ about anyone Fingon dated, ever again…

He stopped dead in the doorway.

Fingon was awake.

He was sitting on the couch wrapped in a blanket, the phone on his knees. His face was drawn and pale, and his eyes were red.

Maedhros forgot everything else.

“Fingon, are you okay?”

Fingon was staring at him with an unreadable expression on his face, and Maedhros crossed the room so fast that everything blurred. He dropped to his knees next to Fingon, taking his hands without realizing he was doing so. “Fingon, talk to me, what happened? Is everyone okay? Did someone hurt you? Did that – Did your – Did he do something?”

“You _asshole,_ ” said Fingon, and burst into tears.

Baffled and distressed but with no thought in his mind other than to make Fingon stop crying, Maedhros pulled him into his arms, blanket and all. “Wh – no, Fingon, no, please don’t cry. Please tell me what’s wrong… I know I was such a shit last night. Please don’t cry. Is it because I yelled? Is it about the hole? I promise I’ll spackle it, I’m so sorry, that was such a meathead thing to do…”

Fingon cried harder, his tears sliding down Maedhros’s neck. “I c-can’t believe you. You think this is about the _wall?”_

Maedhros patted Fingon’s shoulder frantically. “What is it about?”

Fingon didn’t lift his head from the front of Maedhros’s shirt. “I b-broke up with… with him last night, and then I went to call you so we could talk, and your phone was off – I kept calling and no response, for _hours_ and at first I thought you were just mad and ignoring me, and I was pissed at you for being so p-petty – You had already been such a jerk _. You were such a jerk._ ” He looked up briefly, real anger as well as tears in his eyes. “You had no right to talk to me like you did. You had no right to act like you know better than me about who I date. Newsflash, Mae, you don’t get a say in my personal life!”

“You’re right,” said Maedhros. The blanket had slipped from Fingon’s shoulder and Maedhros pulled it up again. “I don’t have any right, it was totally over the line and I was being an entitled – Hang on, though, what was that first thing you said?”

Fingon kept talking, wiping at his eyes. “But then when you still weren’t picking up, I got scared. I called all of your brothers and NO ONE had heard from you in hours or had any clue where you were – It’s been all night, Mae, it’s cold, you didn’t bring your jacket or scarf or anything – ” Maedhros glanced down and saw that indeed, Fingon had Maedhros’s scarf – one he thought he’d lost – twisted up on his lap. “I’ve been on the phone with three hospitals – I was about to call your parents – I was about to call the police – ” His voice cracked again.

The agony in Fingon’s voice would usually be something that would distress Maedhros terribly, but unfortunately he could only focus on one thing just then. “You broke up with him?”

Fingon hit Maedhros in the chest with a closed fist, but Maedhros just hung onto him. “I – I mean, I’m sorry! I’m sorry. I was fine, I was just… sulking, like an idiot. I should have texted.” He patted Fingon again. “I’m sorry you broke up with him,” he said, feeling profoundly ashamed. “I know you liked him.”

Fingon didn’t say anything, but his shoulders were still shaking.

Maedhros felt worse than he’d ever felt, worse still for the fact that for a moment he had rejoiced in Fingon’s evident pain. Fingon _had_ liked the redheaded boyfriend, had liked him very much, and Maedhros had seen it from the start. He had to admit, for all it betrayed the worst of him, that it wouldn’t have bothered him so much if he hadn’t known this to be true. He’d seen it in the way Fingon’s eyes had lit up at the sight of the Friend’s straggly head. He’d seen it in how Fingon had reached down to squeeze those thin, pale fingers when his Friend had brushed tentative fingertips against his palm. He’d seen it in how Fingon smiled so affectionately at the Friend’s throat-clearing attempts to get his attention, and the way he had wrapped a possessive arm around that narrow waist. Fingon had _liked_ his boyfriend, and the boyfriend had liked him back, because he may have been an idiot but he wasn’t a fool, and Maedhros – Maedhros had been hoping to take all that away.

He was a monster.

Maedhros closed his eyes. “I bet if you called him, he’d come back. He was - he was really crazy about you, I could tell. If you want him, you can have him. I know you can.”

“I don’t want him,” said Fingon, almost indistinguishably.

Saying those words had taken all of Maedhros’s strength, and so it rattled him to have them rendered unnecessary so swiftly. “What?”

Fingon whispered something, and Maedhros bent down, trying to hear, his ear nearly to Fingon’s lips. “What did you say? You want – What?”

“You _asshole_ ,” said Fingon, or maybe “You, asshole,” and kissed him.

Maedhros froze like a deer blinded by headlights, so sure this was not the logical next step from Fingon’s tears and Fingon’s anger that he half expected Fingon to laugh and say, ‘Gotcha!’ But then Fingon made a small noise and pulled back, and Maedhros saw the uncertainty in his eyes.

Fingon thought he had misjudged.

“No, wait,” said Maedhros, his brain catching up for the first time in months, and he kissed Fingon back.

 

* * *

 

They spent a long time on the floor next to the couch.

Maedhros couldn’t bring himself to stop kissing Fingon. He was so absorbed in the task that breathing became secondary, and it was in a kind of drunken hypoxia that he ran his fingers through Fingon’s hair and skimmed his tongue against Fingon’s lips.  It felt like a revelatory act, acknowledging that this was what he had wanted for weeks now – for months, he admitted to himself, for years – and he kept wanting to pause and ask for clarification. He wanted to ask if Fingon had felt this way all along too, or if it was new. He wanted to ask if it scared Fingon as much as it scared him, and if it was a terrible idea, hooking up with your roommate and best friend.  He wanted to ask if Fingon had broken up with his boyfriend because Maedhros had made some very good points – unlikely – or simply because he wanted Maedhros instead. He wanted to apologize, again, for the wall, but every time he tried, Fingon stuck his tongue down his throat until he stopped.

Maedhros wanted to ask and say a million things, but he knew this thing between them, tangled in the blanket on the floor of their apartment, was too fragile to hold any words.

He couldn’t bear to break it.

They did have to eat eventually, and Fingon made a half-hearted attempt at mac ‘n’ cheese while Maedhros draped over his back and yielded to the temptation of three years to nibble at his ears.

“Oh, damn,” said Fingon, dropping a stick of frozen butter into the pot and half turning in Maedhros’s arms. “Do that again.”

“Like this?” Maedhros asked in a muffled voice.

“Yes,” said Fingon, closing his eyes and sighing.

The cheese sauce burned to a crust and ruined their best pot, but Maedhros had never been happier.

 

* * *

 

Much later, they hovered awkwardly in the hallway.

Fingon made a move to tug Maedhros into his bedroom, but Maedhros hung back at the doorway, suddenly scared again. Things were moving fast, and it wasn’t that he didn’t want – it wasn’t that he hadn’t imagined – it was just that he –

It was just that he would definitely mess it up.

“It’s okay,” said Fingon, correctly reading his hesitance. “We don’t need to. No pressure.” He touched Maedhros’s cheek, and Maedhros realized one of the downsides of hooking up with your best friend.

He _knew_ when you were twenty-nine and entirely sexually inexperienced.

His cheeks burning, he swallowed a couple times and said, “Okay, I should go.”

“Just to bed, right?” There was a hint of anxiety in Fingon’s voice. “You’re not leaving again, right?”

“Just to bed,” Maedhros promised, and kissed Fingon chastely on the cheek.

Then he went into his room, sat on the bed, took off his socks, and had an anxiety attack.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _While a slow love has me on fire_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 0\. NSFW: mutual masturbation, dirty talk, quite a bit of touching for strictly platonic bffs.

About 2am, Maedhros slunk across the hallway like a tall, flannel-clad ghost. Fingon’s door was ajar and he nudged it open, peering around the corner so he could see the lump in the bed that was his roommate.

“Fingon?” he whispered.

Fingon didn’t answer. He’d always been a heavy sleeper, and, Maedhros remembered with a pang of guilt, he’d gotten no sleep at all the night before.

Maybe it was better this way.

“Fingon, I figured out why you were so upset,” he whispered, quiet enough not to wake his friend, and slipped through the door. He took a shaky breath as he stepped onto Fingon’s carpet. Being in his bedroom felt intimate, almost invasive. “This probably counts as a seriously delayed reaction, but you know I’m slow and, well, I thought you were upset because you broke up with your boyfriend but it wasn’t that, was it?” At least, he hoped that hadn’t been it; he was already worrying that Fingon might have thrown away the love of his life for him. Then he remembered the New Friend’s - the _Ex_ New Friend’s - small dick and felt better.

He made himself keep talking, because it was better than repeating the words over and over in his head. “You were upset because you were worried about me, even though I didn’t deserve it. That’s the kind of person you _are_ , someone who cares enough about someone who was a terrible jerk to you to wait up all night for him. But also I was thinking about how I would have felt if _you’d_ vanished on me like that and I – I would have gone mad, I would have been terrified - ” As it had back in his room, just the thought of Fingon disappearing into the cold night with no warning made Maedhros’s heart stutter and fail. He slid down the wall until he was sitting on the floor next to a pile of Fingon’s clothes.

“I’m so sorry I did that. I’m also sorry for the things I said before I left. I was such a – such a – such an asshole. What do I know about relationships? What do I know about what’s best for you?” I know better than _some_ , the savage part of his brain reminded him. He shook his head until it shut up. “I hope you don’t regret – I know I’m not exactly worth all that trouble.” Maedhros wound a loose thread from his pajamas around his finger until it hurt. “I appreciate you taking the trouble, though. I really am sorry I upset you. I never want to upset you again, but I know I probably will. I guess I’m sorry in advance for that, too.”

Fingon didn’t stir, his deep breaths the only sound in the small room.

Maedhros smiled damply and nodded. “Okay, that’s all I wanted to say.”

But he couldn’t quite bring himself to leave. It felt too bold to get in bed beside Fingon, so instead he crept to the end of the bed and sat on the edge, resting a tentative hand on Fingon’s feet. Then, overwhelming tiredness taking him after all those churning hours, he curled up and slept.

 

* * *

 

He woke with a stiff neck on top of Fingon’s legs.

“Hi,” said Fingon.

“Hi,” he croaked back.

Fingon sat up – shirtless, Maedhros noted, flustered – and smiled. “You don’t have to be all the way down there,” he said.

“It’s not bad.”

“My feet are asleep though.”

“Oh!” Maedhros sat up, muffling a yelp of pain at the spasm in his neck. “I’m sorry.”

Fingon patted the spot next to him. “It might be more comfortable up here.”

Maedhros slithered up the bed, wondering all the while if Fingon had anything on below the waist. He lay stiffly on top of the blankets next to him until Fingon cheerfully kicked his own blankets back and curled up against him.

He was, it transpired, wearing nothing below the waist.

Maedhros weighed another anxiety attack, or another garbled apology, but decided to try kissing Fingon again instead. He was a reckless fool who made holes in walls and his roommate cry, and kissing his pantsless best friend seemed like a thing a reckless fool should do.

Fingon seemed to agree.

 

* * *

 

They slept in separate beds again that night, but Fingon left his door open and Maedhros boldly decided to follow suit. He closed his eyes as he lay in bed, hoping to be able to hear Fingon’s breathing even from here.

Instead he heard something else – equally familiar, but with a far different effect.

Fingon’s moans.

Maedhros had learned early on that the walls were thin and Fingon was not particularly quiet in bed. At first he had been annoyed, having to listen to Fingon’s post-pub exploits, but soon he discovered that he… didn’t mind.

He’d never liked porn much, and masturbation was an event that happened once in a blue moon. But the sounds Fingon made – his soft groans and murmurs, the occasional cry for _harder_ or _faster_ , his murmured exhortation of _yeah, just like that_ – were enough to get Maedhros as excited as an adolescent.

Fully aware that this made him a pervert, Maedhros would close his eyes and tune in to Fingon’s sounds, taking himself in hand as he did. He would pretend that the murmurs of pleasure and gasped praise were for him, and he’d try to time his own climax to Fingon’s.

If Fingon ever wondered why Maedhros never turned up his music or left the apartment when Fingon had a boyfriend in his room, he never said.

But now Fingon’s door was open and so was Maedhros’s, and the noises were unmistakable. For a panicked, irrational moment Maedhros wondered who was in bed with Fingon, before he realized whatever pleasure Fingon was received was self-inflicted. He further realized that partnered or alone, the sounds Fingon made had the same effect and Maedhros’s pajama pants were already tented.

Old habits died hard; Maedhros bit his lip and reached down.

Transported by the sound of Fingon’s stuttering breaths, the shifting implication of sheets and slick flesh, Maedhros quickly lost himself in the tight grip of his fist. His eyes clenched shut, he matched his strokes to the creak of Fingon’s bedsprings, pressing his hips up in time with Fingon’s groans, and it took him several moments to realize something had changed. For now Fingon wasn’t moaning but speaking, his voice ragged and deep.

“ _God_ , Mae,” he was saying. “God, if you keep sounding like that I won’t last long.”

Maedhros froze, his rhythm faltering. For a panicked moment he wasn’t sure if Fingon had spoken, or if it had just been the product of his fevered, perverse mind.

But then Fingon whispered again. _“Maedhros.”_

“W-what?”

“You make the sexiest noises,” Fingon murmured. His tone was low and appreciative, but Maedhros was too alarmed to register it. “You sound so hot when you’re touching yourself…”

It shouldn’t have been such a revelation that sound traveled both ways across the hall, but Maedhros had had no idea he was making any noise at all. Mortified, he clamped his lips shut.

“No, not fair,” Fingon said, when the silence stretched. He sounded amused now, but his voice was still deep and persuasive. “I know you’re listening to me, you gotta return the favor. C’mon, Mae, let me hear you.”

But when Maedhros just chewed on his tongue and swallowed his sounds, Fingon kept talking. The creak of the bedsprings resumed as well, and the slick sound of flesh on flesh was louder, like he’d kicked back the blankets and moved lower on the bed. Maedhros pictured Fingon’s hips scooted down to the edge of the bed, his legs spread wide as he stroked himself, and only just managed to hold back a whine. Mortification was doing nothing to shrink his arousal, which was, frankly, typical. And Fingon was not being helpful _at all_.

Fingon, in fact, was trying to kill him.  

“Are you biting your lip to stay quiet? I love when you do that, it always drives me crazy when you chew your lips while you read the paper, it’s so insanely sexy and you have no idea, do you? It’s like how you twist your hair around your finger when you’re thinking and you don’t have a _clue_ how hot you are… I want to bite your lips. I want to mess up your hair.”

Maedhros closed his eyes, burning all over. _Come over here and do it._

“I can't get over you like that, getting hard listening to me jack off. I love thinking about you fisting your cock while I touch myself and wish it was you.” Fingon gave a shuddering sigh. “I can’t wait to get you naked. I want to get your shirt off so I can see those freckles on your shoulders and kiss you until I bruise up your pretty skin. I want to touch your chest and see you get goosebumps all over, you get cold so easily and - ” Fingon’s voice cracked a little. “ - What would you do if I just… ran my tongue over one of your nipples?”

Maedhros would stop breathing, he was sure of it. Stop _existing._ In fact, the only way he could currently tell he was still alive was because he hadn’t stopped furiously tugging his cock.

“I want to make you hot, too. I want to come over there and push back the blankets so I can see you, naked and covered in sweat, I want to see you totally _wasted_ , Mae, totally gone with how much you want me. I’d crouch over you to lick the drops from your skin - ” Fingon’s voice was hoarse and almost slurred, his breath panting around his words. “ - and then I’d bend down and take your cock in my mouth so every time you thrust into your fist you’d push yourself down my throat.”

Maedhros let out a high-pitched whimper, unable to restrain himself and too far gone to care. "Fingon!"

“ _Fuck_ , gorgeous.” Fingon let out a delighted, breathless laugh. “That’s more like it.”

It didn’t take either of them much longer after that.

 

* * *

 

This time, it was Fingon who padded in late and crawled onto the end of his bed.

“Hey,” he said, looking almost shy.

“Hey.” Maedhros stretched out an arm, wanting nothing more than Fingon close. He would normally feel shy himself, but just now he felt too good even to be embarrassed by the wad of tissues that he kicked off the bed.

Fingon scooted up next to him, clad in only his boxers, and curled up in the space Maedhros had made. “That was fun,” he said, his momentary shyness evaporating in the pure joy that was pouring off him. He tucked his nose against Maedhros’s collarbone and nuzzled at the flannel until he could reach Maedhros’s skin. “Mmm. Sexy pajamas, but they’d look better on the floor.”

“Okay,” said Maedhros gamely, and pulled his shirt over his head, getting stuck halfway out and needing Fingon to help him. Fingon gently untangled the shirt, plucked free the offending hairclip that it had gotten stuck on, and ran his fingers through Maedhros’s loose hair as it fell into his face.

Maedhros blushed as Fingon tucked his hair behind his ear and then examined the tiny blue barrette between his fingers. “They’re just to keep it from tangling in the night,” he mumbled, as Fingon looked at the clip with evident delight.

“Does it work?”

“No.”

Fingon laughed, tossed the shirt aside, and wrapped around him, and Maedhros felt lightheaded with the happiness of bare skin.

They were quiet for a while as Fingon laid methodical kisses over Maedhros’s chest and Maedhros stroked his hair and wondered if he should be so bold as to remove his pajama bottoms, too.

“I’m really excited to have sex with you at some point,” said Fingon finally, “but until then… Wow, Mae, I never knew masturbating in separate rooms could be so hot.”

“Can we do it again sometime?” Maedhros asked before he could stop himself. Fingon’s lips were making him stupid and reckless again.

“Hell yeah,” said Fingon, and kissed his shoulder. “Anything you want, baby. Oof! What was that for?”

Maedhros had rolled over and pressed him into the pillows, kissing him so exuberantly that Fingon yelped. Maedhros didn’t explain, and Fingon didn’t ask further, but Maedhros hoped his kisses tasted even a little bit of the jubilation he was feeling. He even bit Fingon lightly, to prove he’d been listening.

“Baby,”  Fingon whispered, and Maedhros knew that he was the luckiest idiot in the city.

In the world.

He’d definitely spackle the wall tomorrow - it was the least he could do.

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from Horace's _Carpe Diem_ ode. He might as well have been in love with _his_ roommate, honestly.


End file.
